


Odyssey

by TheDescension



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 16:31:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10857807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDescension/pseuds/TheDescension
Summary: This isn't a journey she wants but with every moment she spends with him, she grows a little more certain that it just might be the one she needs. (Or, an AU where Clarke falls for Bellamy, the man who takes her captive.)





	Odyssey

**Author's Note:**

> Normally, I'm not someone who writes AU's so I was a little surprised when this plot started talking very loudly in my head and didn't stop chattering till I wrote it down.
> 
> So, here goes.
> 
> Feedback would be wonderful so please leave behind a review.
> 
> And I do not own The 100, just so you know.

Clarke truly understands just how much she detests her own existence the day her mother barges into her room and tears the canvas that had only begun to be brought to life.

"What madness is this?" Clarke manages to keep her voice steady despite the anger bubbling inside her.

"My lady," the young girl who had been in the middle of combing Clarke's hair greets Abby with a bow.

"Leave us," Abby barks and the girl scampers out of the room.

"Everybody knows!" her mother screams as soon as the room is empty, trying her best to glare pointedly at Clarke through the blur of tears that covers her eyes.

Clarke is confused for a moment because she cannot quite comprehend what her mother is talking about. She can't understand what is there for everybody to know till her eyes fall on the canvas lying on the floor.

"So what?" she asks her mother calmly, bending down to pick up the fallen canvas. She lets her fingers gently caress the innocent blue eyes she had painted.

"Clarke," Abby hisses through clenched teeth, violently wiping the tears from her face. "This isn't a joke! We could lose everything because of your constant need for adventure and-"

"Mother!" Clarke's voice is firm. "This isn't an adventure for me."

"I don't care!" Abby screams again. "Do you realize the consequences of your actions? Do you have any idea of the whispers that have started to go around the palace?"

"I don't spend my day in this godforsaken palace, mother. So no, I don't know anything about the rumors your incompetent and jobless ministers have spread," Clarke replies icily, glaring at her mother. She has had enough interference from the council in her life before and she is determined this is not going to be one of those times.

"Have some respect, Clarke!" her mother begins, taking a step in her direction.

"Respect for what, mother?" Clarke fires without a second thought.

There is a tense pause for a moment. The women continue to stare at each other, almost challenging the other to shoot another barbed arrow of words till Abby lowers her gaze.

"Clarke, honey," she whispers, the anger slowly dissipating from her eyes as she wraps her arms around her daughter. "You have to understand my concerns. You are the next in line to the throne, sweetheart. Your father is very ill and we don't know when-" Abby breaks into a sob. Taking a breath, she continues. "We need you to be ready for your responsibility, Clarke. And if you continue in this manner, we might end up losing the throne and the kingdom."

Clarke doesn't reply. Quite honestly, she doesn't know what to say. This wasn't a responsibility she had asked for and it's not like she wants to run away from it but she can't embrace it with open arms like her mother is asking her to either.

"Promise me," Abby tells her, squeezing her arms. "This won't happen again."

"I can't promise you that," Clarke whispers.

"Clarke, please," her mother has tears in her eyes once again and Clarke wishes she could give her what she wants. But the truth is she can't, no matter how hard she tries.

"I think you should leave," Clarke whispers hoarsely, averting the empty gaze of her mother. She wrenches herself from her Abby's grasp and turns her back to the older woman who has frozen in place.

"You have loved boys before," Abby whispers.

Clarke feels a nauseating wave of anger wash over her. She knows if she spends another moment with her mother she will end up saying something that she will regret for the rest of her life.

And so she storms out of her room, past her mother who she can no longer look at, past the guards standing outside her room then past the guards standing at the gate of the royal palace of Arkadia.

She truly detests her own existence.

* * *

Arkadia is a quaint little island, thirteenth of its kind, that surrounds the main land of Polis. The thirteen islands came into existence many centuries ago and Clarke, for one, doesn't know which story of their creation to believe.

She knows which story is her favorite though. Legend has it that the island of Arkadia - her home - was never meant to be inhabited by people. There was a falling out in the twelfth clan that had survived the apocalypse and it had fractured into two further groups. The smaller of the factions had sought shelter in the once perilous terrain of Arkadia and after years of labor, they had managed to make their land flourish. A monarchy was established somewhere down the line and generation after generation, the crown had been passed from one heir to another of the Griffin family. The people of the land had never had a problem with her family being in power till she came along.

* * *

Her crime was that she loved both girls and boys and wasn't willing to lie about who she really was to keep the crown on her head.

Clarke doesn't understand what is wrong with girls loving girls or boys loving boys. It seems fairly pure and innocent to her and doesn't seem blasphemous like her mother believes it to be. She wishes everybody could see the world through her eyes: everybody could see the beauty and not the blasphemy.

It's her fault really that she is in this situation. She may not understand what the world finds wrong in the love that she finds beautiful but she isn't stupid. She had always known that the world was a cold hellish place that had little regard for ideas that strayed from the norm and that is why she had kept this love of hers a little secret. She had paraded her male lovers around to keep the suspicion off her back and she had snuck in the women who caught her breath into her chambers. It was convenient and no one was getting hurt by it. She had always been careful and was certain she would take this secret of hers to the grave till she met a dainty girl with innocent blue eyes out on her hunt in the woods. Clarke didn't think then that one moment of her not being careful could have such disastrous consequences but she should have. She should never have believed that the universe could be kind to her for one tiny moment.

* * *

Bellamy had understood that he was going to detest his existence for the rest of his life when he had returned to an empty home with a lifeless sheet of paper lying on the floor with scribbled words from his sister telling him to never try and find her. She had found a man who made her feel alive, the letter had said and Bellamy had sobbed knowing he had lost the only person who made him feel alive.

It had been a steady downward spiral from there on and after spending nights being drunk on the shady streets of Arkadia that the royals never bothered to visit, where his mother had once sold her body, he had found himself in the middle of an inevitable brawl. When a man came charging at him with a knife in his hand, he didn't think twice before clobbering him to death with a hammer he had gathered in his inebriety. He had spent the night scrubbing the raw blood off his hands and wanting to end his life but when morning came, he convinced himself that there was still plenty left in the world to go on. But his skills had been noticed and had been judged to be a little too precious. So with a knife pressed against his neck and words that promised to shred his sister to pieces hissed into his ears, he had been forced to join the gang of marauders that terrorized all thirteen islands of the region.

On most nights, he stays up and gazes at the stars, knowing wherever his sister is she is watching them too. It helps him to go on most of the times but the times it doesn't, he wishes he had ended his life on that terrible night.

* * *

"There's a job for you, Blake."

Bellamy sits up straight, wistfully tearing his gaze from the stars shining in the night sky. "What is it?" he asks, already wondering how many lives he will be taking tonight.

"Bring the princess of Arkadia hostage," his boss tells him.

"What?" Bellamy scoffs. "Have you lost your mind? The fucking princess? She has guards around her, remember?"

"She is out in the streets right now. No guards with her. And tell you what, if you do this right, you'll finally get out of this, like you have always wanted to."

That gives Bellamy pause.

"So, in or out?"

Bellamy heaves out a sigh and before his mind starts wandering, he acquiesces, "In."


End file.
